


On The Road

by LeantheBean



Series: Critical Role Fics [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: And other fun Tales, Becoming a Cleric, Campaign 02 (Critical Role), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeantheBean/pseuds/LeantheBean
Summary: "One of the fundamental truths Jester believes with all her heart is that it is the journey, not the destination, which is actually interesting.”Or, Jester meets some exciting people.





	1. A Wrinkle in the Road

One of the fundamental truths Jester believes with all her heart is that it is the journey, not the destination, which is actually interesting. The search for her father has a destination out there somewhere, an end point, but for now the journey will just have to do. 

At the beginning Jester doesn’t have anything to her name except for the thought of finding her father someday. The echoing ring in her ears that keeps her up at night thinking— abandoned, alone—is almost too much to bear sometimes as she drifts from place to place, not truly engaging in what is happening around her. The thought of getting anywhere stops her from realizing all the times that she’s actually gotten somewhere, and it takes her a while to realize that everything around her is interesting. She likes traveling the road; she likes making friends; she likes talking to the strange people that drift in, and out, and alongside her. The journey, as it turns out, is interesting.

She doesn’t think her travel is anything special until one day the road warps under her feet. Jester doesn’t really notice it happening at first because it’s not what she usually looks for when she’s traveling. As a lone Tiefling on the road, Jester’s eyes usually comb for large groups of people, and stillness in the air. More often that not, large groups of people are potential friends, and the stillness signals trouble ahead. Usually the roads are loud, and Jester rarely is the only one making her way on them, and even if other walkers usually eschew the company of a blue fiend in a pretty dress there are often distant jags of music and chatter that make their way to Jester’s ears. 

What’s different that the day is the emptiness of the road. When The Traveler comes into Jester’s life she’s been walking alone, without another soul in sight, for hours. It’s one of the two summer months so the birds are singing, and the blue sky above extends as far as Jester can see, a few wisps of cotton candy clouds lingering distantly in the air. She passes the dogwood flowers once, twice, and that oak tree again before she realizes what’s happening. Jester is caught in a twist of the road; stuck in-between here, and there, and where she’s trying to be. 

She’s not quite sure what to do so she keeps walking. (Later a voice will whisper to her that this is why He loves her, because the strange, and the odd, and the changing don’t even put a hitch in her step.) It’s a strange sensation to walk and get nowhere. Jester is a traveler at heart. Her boots are worn thin at the soles, and have lost their finish from the dust of the road. She knows how to walk, and keep walking, and walk some more, but usually she gets somewhere for all of that, even if she never intended to really get anywhere at all.

Still walking and getting nowhere is just the truth behind what she usually does becoming reality, so Jester’s not all that concerned. There’s no danger in the air, only the sweet smell of flowers and birdsong. Jester has a strange feeling of certainty in the pit of her stomach born of the unfounded knowledge that as long as she keeps walking something is going to happen. It takes three hours before something does.

A man comes down the road. He’s dressed in beat up leathers, and a deep blue cloak. His boots are just as worn as Jester’s, and he carries the utilitarian walking stick of someone who has a long road ahead of them. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes as he comes upon Jester in the road. 

“Has this little stretch of path been misbehaving Missy? It looks like it trapped you good.” The first thing that Jester notes about him is that his voice is warm when he speaks. It sounds like chocolate melting inside a pastry, or the blink of a firefly on a summer night. It instantly makes Jester want to giggle, and dance, and run the road as fast as she can till the stars come out. There’s a deep power to this man; yet Jester can’t imagine him using it for anything serious.

‘Oh I don’t mind. The road just played a bit of a trick on me, it does that sometimes. I let it have it’s fun, eventually I’ll get where I’m going anyhow.” Jester can feel the weight as the man’s eyes settle on her. She’s positively minuet in his gaze. Still, she knows the road, and she knows the air, and the birds are singing, and the breeze is quick. Something vast and powerful just laid its eyes on her, but not to harm; Jester knows because the road would warn her. 

“I can fix this little twist of highway that you’ve gotten tangled up in.” The man said, his voice rich like heated caramel, “But its worth saying that gifts have a price, and you’re just as likely to get out on your own, your own way, without my help. Personally I think you’ll like my idea of help, but still, a warning is only fair.” Jester tilts her head considering her response before asking, “What is your name?” 

The man grins cheerfully at her, “People call me The Traveler, The Trickster, and the Giver of Gifts. I’m the God of these roads, as well as the things and people that change on them.”

As he says it everything about the day seems to intensify. Surely Jester has never seen a sky so blue or smelled flowers as sweet as when The Traveler invokes his name on the road he owns. Jester knows of him, how could she not. Her boots are worn with steps taken on dirt, and rocks, and cobblestone roads. The hem of her dress is almost as faded as the dust that clings to it. Of course she’s heard of The Traveler. She’s also heard to beware the traveler’s gift, a lesson given from Carnies, and Merchants, and Swordsman and Townsfolk, alike. Still, something about the moment gives Jester pause.

She likes this man, she thinks. This strange God walking on a warm summer day, on the same road as Jester, is not someone that she wants to fear. Still, taking favors from a known trickster is risky. Then again Jester’s always been a gambling women.

“How about this, I’ll take a favor from you, and you’ll get me off this twist in the road. In exchange I’ll be a cleric of The Traveler, a servant of tricks, and chaos, and good durable road boots.” There’s not overt change in the man’s expression, but Jester can taste his surprise like ozone in the air. It prompts her to continue. “Don’t be surprised. I’ve needed something to dedicate myself towards other then finding my father, and impulsivity is kinda my thing. This seems like kismet.”

The Traveler smiles at her words, and then closes the distance between them in three quick strides. He places his hands on each side of her face, “Then mine you shall be Jester, wanderer, trickster, and all the entropy of a warm summer day given human form.” His breath on her face feels like a hot, dusty, gust of wind. She thinks it brings the smell of a briny dock, and a seaside port town, or maybe the smell of beer and a roadside inn’s candle wax, or maybe it’s the smell of popcorn and candied apples, of a carnival finally rolling into town after months on the road. Jester’s not quite sure what it is, but it brings a beaming grin to her face.

“Oh yes, Jester,” The Traveler breathes, holding her face in his hands, “I think you’re going to have so much fun with the road ahead.” Just as he leans in to kiss her forehead he whispers, “It’s going to be very, very, interesting.”


	2. Things are Gunna Change I can Feel It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there was Fjord.

She meets Fjord in Port Damali. It’s another one of those situations that she’s not really looking for, but that happens to her. The air in Port Damali smells of sea salt and briny fish. It’s also a much bigger town than Jester been to in a while. She’s spent the last two months moving from roadside inn to roadside inn, so she’s been planning to make this stop in Port Damali last a while. Her first morning in town had been the only time in the past three weeks that Jester had been able to scrounge up some acceptable baked goods. She’s in heaven.

She spends the majority of her first day in Damali wandering around. There’s a fun marketplace area where she buys another cute dress that she can wear when she’s not walking the roads or running odd jobs. She messes up the arrangement of goods in three different booths, and steals some pretty silver ribbon with little metallic wires running through it that glitter. As soon as she is out of sight of the vendor she wraps it around her tail and ties it off in a pretty bow. 

Altogether it’s been a great day so far, she’s even scouted out three different bakeries that she’ll be trying tomorrow and gotten doughnuts from two others. There’s a little nip in the air as she walks through the city streets licking powdered sugar off of her fingers. Autumn has been settled in for months now, and the trees are rapidly losing their leaves. Still Jester can tell that there’s a little bit more frost to this breeze, the first touches of winter are going to be setting in soon. 

The cold sends a shiver down Jester’s tail. Winter means no hard traveling at night, which Jester will miss. It also means campfires with other travelers and spooky stories about the ghosts that haunt the roads of Wildmount. Jester loves spooky stories; she can feel His approval every time she tells one. 

As Jester meanders around the city, she spots out of the corner of her eye a flash of color and turns to look. Walking along the seaside street, carrying two wooden boxes one under each arm, is the prettiest orc that Jester’s ever seen. He’s green and blue and has thick dark hair. He doesn’t appear to have seen her, so Jester seals a couple extra seconds to look at him. 

Whoever this man is, he’s certainly got a good work ethic. The half-orc is placing boxes in stacks one after the other with focused intent. Jester can’t help but think it a little odd that seaside box stacking is what this man has been hired on to do. He’s wearing the leather armor of a mercenary, beat up and weathered in places, and the sword slung across his back has seen some use if the state of its scabbard is any indication. 

Jester loves seeing the signs of wear on things. Wear and tear is the mark of the road. It is a sign that something has been traveled, been touched, been taken. This man stands out to Jester because he seems just as much a part of the road as she is. His armor bears the marks of combat, and his hands show the signs of hard work. Most importantly of all his boots are dusty, and have mended holes where leather thread tries to hide the signs of wear. This man’s been walking for a while and even without knowing him, Jester loves him for it. 

As she continues her walk alongside the docks, she knows what she’s going to draw in her journal to The Traveler tonight will be the man who looks like as much of a worshipper of the road as she is. After a couple more moments of observation Jester turns and walks back toward her lodgings. She’s starting to get hungry.

No part of Jester expects to see the man again until she does that night outside The Singing Swallow where she is staying. 

The night air is salty and cold, as the sea is stirred up by the icy winds of an oncoming storm. Jester manages to talk Aisha, the owner of her fine establishment, into loaning her a knitted scarf in cheerful shades of orange, blue, purple, and red. It’s a rather horrifying thing, and Jester loves it on sight. With the scarf wrapped tight around her neck, and her bright blue dyed leather gloves pulled on, Jester sets out for an evening walk. 

She doesn’t get more than three steps out of the inn when she hears a commotion in a nearby alley. She picks up her pace, running toward the sounds. What she sees makes her angry. Two humans, sailors by the looks of their clothes, are ganging up on her half-orc man from earlier in the day. One of them has pinned the half-orc’s arms back behind him so that he can’t reach that wicked sword strapped across his back while the other one hits the poor orc in the face over and over again. 

Jester is pissed. For the first time since The Travel kissed her forehead, she draws on his font of power for an offensive move. Jester throws her hand forward. She thinks about the fury of the road, takes it’s blood and its danger and flings it out as hard as she can. Out of her palm bursts a shining bolt of light the color of a blazing bandit campfire on the side of the road. The air shines with crackling firefly sparks, and the smell of ozone. 

The light slams into the man holding the half-orc’s arms back, and as he lets go Jester’s green man crumples to the ground. The other assailant turns and sees her. He’s no fool, he knows that she could bring him down as easily as she brought the other man. As she stands there, hands blazing with the leftover sparks from her spell, the cowardly sailor turns tail and runs. 

There’s a long pause as Jester waits for him to move out of view. After he is gone she closes in on the half-orc and the man lying on the ground. A quick medical check shows that the unconscious sailor will be fine; the half-orc on the other hand looks to be in bad shape. His cheekbone is purple and swollen, and dark patches of what can only be described as heavy bruising coat the left side of his face. His breath shudders and hitches wetly, Jester thinks that he might have a broken rib. 

She can still feel the magic of The Traveler coursing through her veins. The sparking bolt of energy definitely took something out of her, but she still has more to draw on. Jester lays both of her hands on the side of the half-orc’s face and pulls on as much magic as she can spare. She hears the sounds of a cart rolling across dirt and gravel, and smells dust and blood on the wind. 

Jester thinks of a medic wandering the road, tying off a bandage around the arm of a wounded soldier; a mercenary smiles at his cleric compatriot as their touch fills him with a goddesses warmth. Jester pulls power from her God; she takes the goodwill of the road, of the strangers who lend a hand, and the medics willing to help any and all, and she heals this hurt man in front of her who is just as much a part of the road as she is. 

Once she is done she feels as though she has been trampled on by a herd of horses. The man, whose face she is cradling in her hands, jerks away from her touch as his eyes shoot open. 

“Don’t worry,” Jester says with a friendly smile, still non-threatening, but not moving any closer until her patient calms down, “I took care of those assholes. My name is Jester, what’s yours?”

The man takes two long breaths as he stares at her. His yellow eyes meet hers, and Jester’s breath catches in her throat. Something important is happening here. Something truly and utterly life changing. She feels the same thrill that she did standing on the road, facing her god. This is an interesting and important person right here. 

With a faint smile and a quick flick of hair, the man reaches out with his hand. “My name is Fjord. Nice to meet you darlin’. I’m really grateful that you helped out there. I was in a bit of a pickle.”

Jester takes his hand and shakes, “You know I’m really glad I did too.”


	3. A Cleric? That's one of those traveling medicine shows, isn't it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jester fails to be a medic, and tries to be The Cleric. Beau judges.

Jester doesn’t expect it when she sees that Beau has a medic pack on her. It’s a chilly winter day, and they’re fighting a giant snake in a field. Fjord is throwing himself forward at the snake, his blade carving into the tough hide like living shadow. She’s flung the fiery guiding bolts of the road at the thing twice already, and the stupid snake hasn’t done more than hiss. It’s really pissing her off. Shield over one arm, sickle gripped in the other, Jester charges forward with a shout. As she moves, Jester hears the voice of The Traveler exclaim a warning, which turns her attention towards the snakes head whipping toward her as it sinks its fangs deep into her shoulder.

Everything goes black. The pain feels like burning fire, and as her pulse beats in her ears as Jester’s entire world falls away. This is all she knows for a small eternity. Blackness and pulsing pain. As though from a great distance, Jester feels a large masculine hand cup the back of her head, and something icy cool touch her lips. Even lost to the world as she is, Jester knows that touch. A single thought rings through her mind, bringing peace as it does, Fjord. Fjord is here. He has her back; Jester isn’t going to die today. 

The icy liquid moves through her, soothing the burning pain in her chest. Jester’s eyes flicker open. Leaning over her, face scant inches from hers is Fjord. Kneeling in the dirt behind him is Beau, an open healer’s kit spread out in front of her. Clutched in one of her hands is a compression bandage. In the other is an herbal salve that Jester recognizes as the hearty kind mercenary bands on the road use to stave off infection from swords and arrows cutting into them.

Honestly, Jester doesn’t know what she feels when she sees Beau holding that kit. She still feels pretty crappy, even though the healing potion dealt with the worst of her hurts. Mostly she feels a little strange. She knows that she has a couple things that could be construed as bandages in her road bag, but nothing on the level that Beau has. Honestly it’s never really occurred to her to carry a med kit. 

Jester’s no stranger to those that do. Usually people with healer’s packs are those that expect to see people bleeding, the Mercenaries and Bandits of the road. In a way Jester’s always thought that carrying a healer’s pack invited the injuries that made it a necessity. Carrying pastries meant that you had a way to make friends, carrying a healers kit meant you had a way to mop up blood, and even then the person you mopped up might die anyway. Most travelers that Jester knows ascribe to similar modes of thinking. If you travel alone and Bandits jump you, there’s no point to having a healers kit because you’re dead anyway.

The sight of Beau kneeling in the dirt in front of Jester, however, makes something in the pit of Jester’s stomach squeeze. Beau looks young and terrified with that bandage in her hands. She’s holding the salve upside down, and hasn’t pulled out the long strands of gauze that mean the bandage can be tied down tight. What’s more the healer’s kit in front of her is clean. Jester’s seen Beau’s pack quite a bit in the last day. Nothing she owns looks any less than thoroughly abused by the sun and dust of the road—that’s why Jester had been so taken with her. 

Jester hasn’t known Beauregard that long, but she knows this, if Beau has a healer’s kit, it wasn’t because some wise old teacher gave it to her, it was because she went out and bought it. It makes Jester feel a little ashamed. 

Even without the Traveler’s power running through her, giving her the blessings of kind fires and open roads, Jester would know more about triage than Beau. A life as a lone blue tiefling traveling the roads of Wildmount meant that Jester has never been a stranger to injury and illness. Honestly, with a healer’s kit, Jester could probably do a lot. 

Still Fjord is stroking her short blue hair back out of her sweaty face, and Beau is looking at her, dark hair falling out of her scraggly bun, blue eyes wide. They both look terrified. So Jester reaches up, pats Fjord gently on the cheek, gives Beau a smile, and says in the sweetest voice she can, “Aww, you guys are so worried! That’s so embarrassing.” 

Fjord’s hand stills in her hair, and he pulls away, even as a smile grows over his face in return. Similarly all the tension drops out of Beau’s shoulders and she shakes her head as she turns toward re-assembling her healer’s kit. She puts the bandage in upside-down. Jester knows as sure as she breathes that when Beau reaches to pull it out again, the dirt on her fingers will get on the part of the bandage that’s supposed to be covering the wound. 

Jester doesn’t say anything though. Beau bought that healers kit because she wants to take care of people. She actively, with focused efficiency, tries to take care of people. Jester’s never tried or wanted to do the same thing. She doesn’t get to tell Beau how to do the job she volunteered for, even if she might be better suited to it. In the afternoon sun, Beau’s eyes look gigantic in the set of her face. It’s just another moment where she looks at Beau and is struck by how young she is.

Fjord and Jester are beaten weary by the road, their clothes have dust creased into the pleats, and their boots have holes in the soles. Beau’s dusty, but she wears it awkwardly. This clearly isn’t where she started. She’s not the dusty traveler born of the road like Jester is, and she’s not worn smooth by voyages across the seas the way Fjord is. Beau has the big eyes and big talk of a child who has been thrown onto the road by someone with all the grace and well meaning of a sledgehammer to the face. 

Beau has only known Jester and Fjord for a day, and she’s already made two cracks about the two of them skipping town with her. She says it like a joke, but behind her words there is the echo of terror. She makes Jester think of a small bird that got pushed out of the nest in an attempt toward flight, but fell down a cliff instead. 

And still, for all of that, Beau picked up a healers kit. It both says something about the kind of person she is, and the kind of things that she expects to see on the road. It makes Jester wrap an arm around her shoulders as they walk toward a pub nearby. 

She doesn’t think much more about it until the end of the second zombie fiasco when Jester is yanking things out of her bag, as a bleeding lavender tiefling carnie lies unconscious at her feet, and Beau is standing in front of her, asking why The Cleric has a six pack of donuts but no healer’s kit. 

For a moment Jester isn’t sure what to say in response. Honestly the first thing that comes to mind is, “I like donuts, its healing people I’m not so hot on.” But that’s not quite right at all. So instead comes a shout, “The Cleric, The Cleric?! I’ve never traveled with a bunch of people that were going to die in front of me before.” It feels a little hysterical when it bubbles out. It isn’t coated in Jester’s usual cheer, and Beau’s eyes on her feel a little like a test or an assessment. 

The worst part is that it’s the truth. Jester’s really never needed a healer’s kit before. When it’s just herself, the Travelers gifts are usually enough to protect her or heal an unfortunate soul that crosses her path. Med kits are for those who need to stabilize the people bleeding out from sword wounds, or for the clerics that wander the wilds healing those ridden with plague and pain. Jester lifts boxes for pretty innkeepers and lifts purses from ugly inn patrons. She doesn’t need a healers kit normally, though she has a sinking feeling that if this trend of her sticking with fighters like Fjord and Beau keeps up, maybe she’s going to have to expand her own pack.

These thoughts are what make her pause when Beau holds out the pack. “You’re the Cleric now.” Beau’s eyes when she says it are big, and her hair is bedraggled from the undead tussle. Still, though she sounds grim, there’s something about the way that she’s looking at Jester that makes the blue tiefling feel as though the world is lighting up. 

As Jester reaches out and wraps the healer’s kit in a tight embrace, Beau’s eyes following her gleeful twirl, Jester could swear that she hears a quiet chuckle ring in her ears. The wind ruffles her hair like a soft sweep of fingers, and as though she’s standing on that sunny road once again, Jester feels the phantom touch of chapped lips against her forehead. Med kit clutched tight in her arms with Beau’s eyes on her, Jester feels as though she’s taken a step forward onto a new road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching a lot of MASH lately. Also that moment in the last episode where Jester shouts about not needing to worry about people dying in front of her before made me feel things. Thats all.


	4. The Man Who's Been Kissed by The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jester’s going to get him where he’s going and get him there in style, everyone else can just wait and watch."
> 
> Or, Jester makes some friends, finds two loves, and picks a path.

Jester knows the challenges of being an unconventional race. She’s been spit at before; she’s had her gifts of pastries rejected, and beers tossed into her face. Being a tiefling, particularly a tiefling alone, is no easy task. Jester doesn’t mind too much. Honestly most people don’t even mind tieflings so much anymore, and in areas where prejudices are particularly bad, The Traveler’s gifts let Jester slip on any form that she chooses.

Jester likes changing shape. It’s like putting on a pretty dress or decorating her tail. Masquerades are always such fun. Traveling with Fjord becomes hysterically entertaining quickly as Jester realizes that Fjord has a little magic of his own and isn’t just a merc with a sword. His grip on the illusory isn’t quite as strong as Jester’s, but she loves watching him pull different faces over his own more than she loves popcorn. 

Fjord is also better at voices and setting up schemes. He’s clever as all get out, and people have a tendency to believe him. It’s something about his richly accented voice, the way he always sounds honey sweet with good intentions.

On their third day travelling together, Jester sees Fjord reach out and wrap the shadows of the inky ocean depths around an angry man threatening to mug them. His sword drips with seawater as he cuts the man to pieces. Fjord is honey sweet at the core of him but there’s no doubt that he belongs to the darkness of kelp forests and ship-killer storms. 

When Jester asks him about the strangeness of his magic Fjord dances around the topic itself. “I need some control, that’s all. That’s why I’m heading up north. Gotta get some learnin’ done.” Jester nods and gives him a grin. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about or face the odd nature of his magic. Jester doesn’t really want to press him on it. Fjord is the nicest traveling companion that she’s ever had, and she really doesn’t want to scare him away. 

Traveling with Fjord is fun. It’s nice being freakish in a duo instead of alone. One night the two of them sit together by the campfire that Fjord somehow constructs, even though all the wood in a twenty-mile radius is wet with rain. Jester grins at Fjord across the fire and tries mimicking his accent. Fjord responds by pulling on one of his illusory faces and doing a different voice. And so it goes on, the two of them trading voices and faces back and forth. 

Jester almost splits her sides laughing when Fjord tries to do hers. It is the most entertaining evening that Jester’s had in a while.

Fjord is more restrained when they meet the others. He likes Beau, but it’s also very clear that his trust towards her only extends so far. When Beau jokes about the two of them skipping town Jester laughs with her and insists to her little wounded bird that it’s nowhere near the truth. On Beau’s other side however, Fjord’s eyebrows rise a little bit and he skips his eyes over toward Jester. Jester knows as clear as day that he wouldn’t really mind leaving Beau. She tries to make sure that Beau doesn’t realize that either. 

However how he feels about Beau is nothing compared to his distrust of Molly and irritation with Yasha, which is only compounded by his blatant dislike of the way that Caleb and Nott are clearly planning to use everyone around them as human shields. It doesn’t matter that much to Jester however. She knows as surely as she knows that Fjord is important, as surely as she knows that Beau needs a helping hand, that these people are important. 

The Traveler guides her. He gives her the gift of insight, gained from years of travel that Jester hasn’t spent, but that he anoints her with as a prize. She’s walking towards her father. She’s walking towards something important, and these people are going to help her get there. 

The fact that she actually ends up really liking them is just a nice side effect. 

Beau is pissy and bad tempered, but sometimes when she thinks no ones looking her eyes gain shadows and she just looks oh so tired. Caleb is constantly disgruntled and smells bad, but sometimes he wraps an arm around Nott, or gives her Frumpkin and a quelling look, and Jester can’t help but wish that her father could look and learn. Molly is brightly and happily dishonest, and oh so much fun even as he lies to her face. Yasha is big, beautiful, mean, and strangely, quietly, sweet. Jester enjoys them all. 

She loves Nott though. She loves the little Goblin girl who looks after Caleb and twitches with the need to steal things from whoever is nearest to her. Jester loves the way Nott lies brazenly and so very badly, and how she is very clearly looking for someone to put themselves between her and all the evil of the world; unless the evil of the world is looking at Caleb. Then Nott stands in front of him with all the fury of the small. 

Beau makes Jester a little sad with the sense that something had happened to Beau to make her end up here. Nott makes those feeling explode and multiply. Nott makes Jester furious at the world. When Nott twitches in fear, when her voice shakes and she pulls her mask up to cover her face it makes Jester want to stand in front of her just as much as Caleb does. Nott’s a child. Jester wants to protect her. 

Jester knows how hard the world is for a tiefling child of the road. She can’t imagine how hard it would be for a Goblin girl with no God to guide her. The idea of Nott facing what she has makes Jester a little sad. She’s also got not real idea how to help. Caleb is the one who puts his hand on Nott’s shoulder. She’s his little girl. Nott has Caleb to protect her from the world. 

When Jester feels Nott tugging at her belt in an effort to steal Jester’s coin, Jester knows what she has to do. She’s going to teach Nott that the rest of the world needs to be protected from her. She’s going to help Nott become the trickiest, quickest, quietest thief to ever walk the road.

Jester likes these strangers who are going to walk alongside her. She feels The Travelers approval in the gust of wind that ruffles her hair, in the sweet smell of honey and candy apples on the wind. Still of all these strangers Nott’s the only one that Jester’s really come to love in this short time. 

The only one that Jester loves more is Fjord. Nott may be her project, but Jester is devoted to Fjord. Her briny half-orc boy, who’s been kissed by the sea. She knows that she has her own road to walk but for now she’ll help him with his. Jester’s going to get him where he’s going and get him there in style, everyone else can just wait and watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone feel like there's going to be more parents in this campaign. This isn't really related to this chapter, but I am genuinely curious. Already a bunch of parent mentions from Beau and Jester. I'm v excited.


	5. I Want to Hold Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In moments of fear, they all shall die by Lollypop.
> 
> Or Jester freaks out a bit.

Jester doesn’t feel fear all that often. She gets angry sometimes, and sometimes she gets sad, but fear is an emotion that she hardly ever feels. What so often terrifies other people only serves to make her excited. The whole zombies thing was exciting almost the entire time. Well except when that imp bowled Fjord over. That wasn’t fun.

Still it’s hard to think of the feeling that coursed through her then as fear. It felt more like purpose. A knowledge that she needed to fix him as fast as possible. Purpose was what moved her forward. Still when she saw him fall there may have been a shock of—something—that briefly shot through her; it was a foreign feeling in the moment, but later Jester knows it to be terror.

Maybe then it’s not that Jester doesn’t feel fear, it’s that she doesn’t feel it when it’s not warranted, the hypothetical world doesn’t bother her. After Fjord’s eyes blink open, she lets go of the terror and dances. 

Jester lifts her hands over her head as her illusion spins in front of her. It’s like looking in a mirror. Despite the initial hardship and the pain of watching Fjord fall, Jester is freed from it in the moment of victory. She watches herself spin with her hands in the air, blue hair flying, freckles standing in relief under the moonlight. Looking at her own happiness Jester laughs, throws up her arms, and dances.

Jester doesn’t hold on to fear, she’s positive of it. Then Fjord wakes up choking on seawater.

She’s awake and puttering around the campfire, talking about hamster unicorns with Beau and other inane things, when Fjord wakes up.

Fjord doesn’t normally get up first in Jester’s experience. He’s not the most morning of people, so Jester doesn’t think much of it as he lies there pale and still. He’s breathing, there’s really nothing much to see, until his entire body arches upward.

It’s an unusually violent move, even for the things that Jester has seen. Water sprays out of his mouth as his back bends off of the ground and his finders dig into the grass. Fjord keeps his thick, rock hard, half-orc fingernails trimmed down with a dagger, which is why Jester can see blood where his fingernails are tearing away from the quick.

There’s a shout from Beau, and Caleb’s face goes white as they all converge on Fjord. He’s hacking and his body is spasming, and Jester knows the feeling in her chest is the terror that she has only felt a couple times before. 

The moment passes as Fjord sits up and is promptly interrogated by the rest of the group. Jester takes a moment and stares, as she realizes, the feeling in her chest isn’t going away. The danger has passed and yet it hasn’t. Fjord woke up drowning and there’s honestly nothing that Jester knows to do. Her mind flits from horrifying scenario to horrifying scenario as she watches him fearfully equivocate. 

Still for as freaked out as she is, it is clear that Fjord is even more so. His eyes are distant, and his voice is shaky as he asks if anyone knows what’s happening to him. For all that he’s not coughing up water any more he still sounds like he’s drowning.

So Jester does her best thing. She says something about him turning into water and makes a crack about catching him in a jar.

As Fjord stares at her in horrified disbelief the strange distance behind his eyes slides away and the corner of his mouth ticks up as though he can’t decide whether to laugh or gape at her. It feels like she’s done well as he stares. She’s made him less afraid. Still for all that she’s helped, for all that she may have made Fjord a little less scared, she hasn’t helped herself at all. She doesn’t let it show on her face, but she feels something cold sink into her gut.

Jester knows that she’s not always the most clever, or the best liar, but she always has the insight to find a way forward. It’s why The Traveler loves her, why he laid his hand on hers. Jester is not always sweet and not always kind, but when it is needed she finds the clarity to see solutions, she lightens the burden. In short she’s wise as hell. She knows that holding onto fear isn’t healthy but she thinks that the terror of watching Fjord wake up drowning is going to linger for a good long while.

She presses it down though. There’s no point in letting the others see the cold little kernel of fear chilling the pit of her stomach. It gives her an edge, makes her a little crueler though when the disaster with the gnolls happens. 

Jester’s not afraid during the gnoll fight, not really. Mostly she just feels sharper, a little more vicious. Ever since fighting the zombie making demon and finding the people that she’s meant to walk with, The Traveler has granted her more of his power, more of his trust. Jester can feel it sparkling in her chest like bright bits of effervescence trying to burst their way out. She knows now that the traveler hasn’t just granted her magic, he wants her to use it. 

So between the fear in her chest from watching Fjord drown—making her breath catch somewhere between her ribs—and the feeling of the Traveler’s gifts pushing to get out, Jester lets loose. She thinks of the lollypop that she’d had just before leaving home, she thinks of sweets, she thinks of weapons of war and the bitterness in the look Fjord had given his sword. 

It’s easy to call forward the champion weapon of her heart. If Fjord was doomed to be tied to a sword from the deep destined to change him then Jester’s weapon is going to be her spirit, it’s going to be pretty, and it’s going to remind her of home. It’s going to make her opponents taste something sweet before she kills them. 

The Lollypop that blooms in the air is giant and pink and purple. Jester takes great joy in smacking gnolls with it. As she does a strange feeling comes over her, it might be catharsis, it might just be that she’s not focusing so much on the fear from earlier, but as Jester bashes in some faces it starts to feel good. 

This is the way forward. Taking are of the people that walk with her and fighting with them is the way forward. Jester can feel her magic urging her on. It seems so simple then to reach out a hand—her double mirroring her, a sister, a twin—take her pain, take her fear, and inflict it on this creature in front of her. She feels a strange surge of something as she watches the gnoll wither under another her’s hands. It’s as though the life has been sucked out of it.

A breeze ruffles through her hair bringing with it the smell of burning buildings, of blood spilled on dusty ground. The Traveler sighs, in relief, in disappointment, in ecstasy, Jester doesn’t know. There’s no sinking feeling in her stomach, no crack of a cart-wheel breaking, and their horse is still there when Jester gets back, so she figures that everything is probably okay.

She’ll fight for these people. She’ll die for them. More importantly she’d kill for them. It’s easy to see that now.

As everyone gets ready to sack out for the night Jester notices Molly’s hands shaking. She notices Beau’s twisting muscles as she stretches her fingers, and the way that Caleb runs a possessive hand over Nott’s hair to make sure she’s still in one piece. It’s then that Jester decides to jump on the bed; she doesn’t feel scared or upset at all after that fight but it’s clear that some tension needs to be let out. Besides she has some energy to burn off anyway. 

Still, after they all lie down, and sleep takes the room Jester reaches out a hand and lays the tips of her fingers on Fjord’s ribs. He’s breathing, she can feel the rise and fall of his chest. The room is silent, and though Jester can still hear the crackling of flames in the distance, it is clear that night has taken over this small town. She doesn’t realizes that she’s misjudged the amount of sleeping going on in the room until Fjord’s hand gently folds over hers. She doesn’t say anything as his fingers twist in-between hers. Neither does he. 

The two of them lie there hand in hand—their friends breathing softly—as they listen to fire consume the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm not totally on track with canon. I'm mostly trying to be but the backstory elements Ive been inventing mean some stuff isn't quite right. I hope you all enjoy anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write a quicky about the second campaign. Jester's awesome. I may update this, I may not, but I just needed to get it out. I hope you enjoyed this fic. -Bean


End file.
